In Absentia
by SalvaVeritate
Summary: Didn't I once tell you that with our incessant need to further the boundaries of our perverse mindfucking, a day would come wherein we would eventually become the victims of our own game?
1. I

**In Absentia  
**

If we all haven't guessed by now, I do not own Cruel Intentions. It belongs to Roger Kumble. I own Sebastian though. In my dreams. Hahaha**  
**

* * *

I.

_  
Is there really no way to reach me?  
Am I already gone?_

-The Fray

---_  
_

_The following letter arrived on September 17th at the Methadone Clinic._

Dear Kathryn, 

The games we play... Didn't I once tell you that with our incessant need to further the boundaries of our perverse mindfucking, a day would come wherein we would eventually become the victims of our own game? Of course you probably wouldn't remember it, but I do. I remember that day well because it is one of the many memories I have of us untainted by that moronic emotion called love. I'll say it again. Love. Disgusting, filthy and despicable. A loathsome word which only served as the final axe that severed our ties. I would be lying if I said I didn't take the utmost pleasure of watching you crumble down that day, specifically when Cecile (that amusingly innocent bitch who had followed me around like a puppy dog when I served as her 'tutor') handed you that journal, but I did. You might not have seen me, but I had been inside a limousine hidden from the possible glare of those pretty green eyes of yours. You were warned countless times by the people you've crossed and destroyed: You'll have your day, bitch. I marked their words for them with the slight tilting of my head at your indifferent expression. You weren't scared. That's one thing I'm proud of you for, sis. You were never scared of anything. Always, always so graceful under the harshest of storms. Of course, it would probably be because you were the cause of such discord in the first place.

Eye for an eye, wouldn't you agree? You almost took my life so I suppose it only makes sense that I took everything you stood for: Your reputation. Your shallow, meaningless existence. Now everybody saw the neverending darkness hidden inside that little hot body of yours. Mmm. Creamy skin... Nice smooth thighs... That mouth... Those eyes... God, you were so beautiful. You still are, no matter what the fuck they're doing to you inside that nuthouse Tiffany called a rehab center. How is it, by the way? Sorry I only wrote to you now, but the therapy's killing me. I would have called, but they don't even acknowledge the fact that you're a patient there. By the way, your kind hearted mother's explanation was that you had some sort of breakdown from the hardwork you've been doing, she even managed to make everybody else think that you were the victim and that the drug use was only because of 'peer pressure'. According to her, you're with your aunt in Paris, recuperating. I can only surmise the reason for her inadvertently saving your ass was probably to save the family name, not you. Don't get your hopes up. It's not that you're impossible to love, it's just that your mother is merely a hollow, vapid excuse of a person.

Oh, right. If you haven't figured it out by now (because who knows? Your usual keen intellect might have been dulled by the periodic sermon about how drugs are bad and blahblahblah...), I'm very much alive. Surprise, sweetheart. Sinners never go down easily, no matter how much heartless sluts like you send them off to die. I'm not about to give you all the credit of course. Do you honestly think I would not fight and kick screaming and yelling for another shot at my retaliation? Silly, silly beautiful rabbit... You should know that you and I are too much alike. If that death wish you call drugs can't kill you despite the obscene amount you stuff in your nose, then a fucking cab sure as hell can't finish the job for me.

But I digress.

That day of judgment I'd caused... You must admit that it was a masterpiece if you ever saw one. In fact, I'm sure that in some form or another you must have even admired the careful thinking I've placed into all of this. Surely you didn't think it was only Annette who thought up of all of it, did you? Come on, Kathryn. Give your favorite stepbrother a little credit. I don't give up easily. I remember standing during your speech while my casket lay behind you. You probably didn't see me though, Annette made sure of that. So, that speech you gave was very interesting... Something about how you could never reach out to me in time? And then, my favorite part of course was the one wherein you said I would want to tell you that I'm sorry.

Sure, I'm sorry. I'm sorry you're such a bitch. I'm sorry my father married your gold digging whore mother. I'm sorry you ever lived with me. But if I say that I'm sorry I ever met you, I'd be lying. If push comes to shove, I'm not sorry that I met you. Not at all, Kathryn.  
But we had fun, didn't we? We've had our run, years and years of fucking people up have provided me with your invaluable companionship and the mirth from watching our victims fall. I had fun watching you that day, with your prim and proper school girl uniform and that disbelieving look in those gorgeous green eyes of yours as you rifled through my journal. Did you like what I've written? I must say my adjectives were somewhat crude but they got the message across. Deceitful. Alcoholic. I think there was even 'Bitch' in it. Then there was a certain phrase I'm sure caught your attention before you started crying.

Crying... Thank you for that, by the way. Truly a magnificent performance. And you say _I_ had the flair for drama.

My love. Yes, that surprised you didn't it? What's ironic is that I had just spoken of love in such a hateful manner earlier, and yet here I am using it. On you of all people! Perhaps my statement of us being untainted by love then was wrong. I was already tainted. Unfortunately by you. Then, Kathryn. _Then._

Alright, I suppose since you're there suffering (at least, I hope you are), I might as well enlighten you. Love... Yes, I shall discuss this to you now as though we were back in our house having another one of those long winded talks in your room. I loved those. I never really told you, but I looked forward to it. We would raid the bar in my father's study and walk back into your room. Remember? I'd sit on the armchair and you'd be on your bed, half seated up with those legs of your crossed. You always had that sultry look that never seemed to disappear except when you fell asleep. Even now as I think about those lazy nights and days, I can't help but be all nostalgic about it. We were happy then, however twisted it was. Happy in our own fucked up alcoholic world before love had to screw that up too. I loved you more than I ever loved anybody else in my entire life. Even Annette. Now, don't get all smug and arrogant, princess. I do love Annette. In fact, we're still together. I bet you're just seething at the moment, but please try to refrain from burning this letter until you actually finish it. I'm not going to talk about Annette. She has nothing to do with this and you know it. This is about us, Kathryn. Just the two of us, like it's always been.

Right. So, back to my point. I think you used the promise of sex to control me simply because you assumed I only wanted you to conquer you. How could you think so little of me? Am I that hormonal so as you could think the only head that really does the thinking is the one I keep in my pants? Oh, my darling, destroyed Kathryn... The mistakes we could have avoided now haunt me in your absence.  
But yes, I have missed you. I do miss you. Every fucking day. I don't like it, but I can't help but instinctively wait for you to come back. I did love you, and I don't give a fuck if you're laughing your ass off or if you think that this is some victory you held over me. I got the final laugh, sweetheart. I may be suffering from when that fucking cab slammed into me, but you're suffering all the ways I had always imagined you would when I hated you. In your narrowminded opinion, in all the fucking years you've known me, did you honestly think the only reason why I allowed you to nearly dominate me was because I wanted to have sex with you?

Not only is that thought highly insulting, it's also far from the truth. When will you ever learn? How many times should I have showed it to you? How many women would I have had to flaunt in that beautiful face of yours to make you see that sex hadn't been all that I wanted from you? I wanted you. I didn't want to just fuck you or _'put it anywhere'_, as you succintly put during that cursed bet, I wanted to have you. To keep you. I always have, or rather, had.

I'm sure no amount of recollection about our fond past could make you forgive me for what I've done. I'm not asking for forgiveness from you, I know that despite the anger you must have right now, a part of you understands. This is it, my lovely stepsister. Our orchestra of irony and tragedy. Don't you live for those? We've been burned from all this deception and in the end, we paid the price. We lost what we had. I lost you, I lost your companionship and your affection and you lost everything that mattered. I'm not going to be thickheaded enough to say that it would include me, since what you mostly cared for was your precious upstanding in society. I'm not trying to be a fucking drama queen (that's truly more of your department), nor am I trying to reverse psychology you. You have dear Dr. Murdoch for that, right? That _is_ the name of your fag shrink? You see, I have been keeping tabs on you. I do care. Just a bit. I know for a fact that he'll probably be someone who would annoy you to no end, with his bullshit talks of 'the steps to recovery'. I was the one who suggested Dr. Murdoch for you. Yes, sorry. I couldn't resist just twisting the knife a little deeper, you know, to match the one you stuck in my back the moment you sent your dear wonderful Ronald after me.

I know that I did matter to you because you never would have cried if my words were unimportant. I must admit that despite my bitterness toward your actions against me, I had the urge to step out of the car and end this stupid war the moment your face crumpled at the comprehension of my words. The truth hurts, doesn't it? So do you... As do I... We all hurt, Kathryn. Even now. Especially now. But yes, please just know that I loved you all the ways I knew. Fucked up, twisted, perverse and immoral. Was it wrong? No. Never. I don't regret anything. I don't regret that I did this to you, but then again, it must also be said that I don't regret loving you.

Yours (always, in some form),

Sebastian

PS. Attached is your crucifix with the screw welded shut. I'm sure you could use the companionship.

---

_The following notes were taken during by Dr. Ian Murdoch in relation to a patient by the name of Ms. Kathryn Merteuil:_

September 17th

5:00 PM

The patient seems to be subdued today. There are traces of weariness which are clearly written on her face, despite the monitoring of her food intake, she has lost five pounds for the first three weeks of her stay. There has never been any form of active reaction seen from her yet, and the heavy security measures her mother has ensured had forbidden friends and acquaintances to visit. This is not advisable, but my hands are tied.

5:10 PM

A letter arrived for Ms. Merteuil, curiously placed in an envelope with a waxed seal. I had initially thought of examining the letter in case there was an attempt to smuggle illegal substances but decided against it when observing how her facial expression changed as though she recognized the handwriting. Her normally impassive eyes had widened and her hands shook as she lifted the flap of the envelope. I could only guess what the actual contents of the letter are, but she read it quickly. Whatever emotion she may have lacked now passed through her while she read it, and to my surprise, I was able to notice from my vantage point, two drops of tears hit the paper.

This was then followed by the crumpling of the paper with a whispered profanity, she had turned and met my eyes as though she knew I had been watching her and simply glared bitterly. I knew then, here was a young woman capable of so much. She remained silent until approximately 8:05 PM, when she requested that this man, a Sebastian Valmont, be banned from continuing his letters to her. I also noticed, hidden in a tightly clenched fist, was what seemed to be a silver necklace with beads of some sort.

* * *

A/N: Now, before any of you smack the back of my head (probably B... And perhaps a few of the kind readers who miraculously like my DHr fics. Haha) for not finishing/updating the story which they wanted me to go to, like I said... I go where the wind takes me. This was inspired by the way Les Liaisons Dangereuses by Choderlos de Laclos was written, with a bit of tinkering of course. I had been taking a breather, I think I still am. See ya.  



	2. II

II.

_Re–enact your legendary tragedy _

_And do to me what has been done to you _

_Is that the only point to all this misery?_

_-Lou Barlow_

___The following is a transcription of a Kathryn Merteuil's therapy session with Dr. Murdoch, done on September 30 at 10:00 AM. _

**Beginning of tape **

**Dr. Murdoch**: Good morning, Kathryn. I've just received news from your family, it seems as though—

**Kathryn**: They're all dead? Good. Maybe then I can get the fuck out of here.

**Dr. Murdoch**: I'm sensing a lot of inherent hostility against your family, particularly your mother. Will you tell me about her?

**Kathryn**: Of course you're sensing my fucking hostility, _doctor_. They're the ones who are fucking responsible for my being here. Do you really want me to talk about my mother? I have nothing to say about her. I don't see the point in all these sessions, do you consider me unstable because you've heard about my fall from grace?

**Dr**. **Murdoch**: Your family was just… They're just concerned, Kathryn. They only want what's best for you.

**Kathryn**: (a wrapped necklace around her wrist is suddenly visible from her sweater and she plays with it) You don't get it, do you? (laughs amusedly) My 'family' consists of a frosty bitch mother who would probably leave me here to rot, a father I don't fucking know, and a stepbrother who—

(There is a long pause from her. A brief flash of hesitance appears clearly on her face.)

**Kathryn**: A stepbrother who wanted to fuck me and then decided to fucking ruin my life because of a stupid game we had.

**Dr**. **Murdoch**: (looks at his notes) What can you tell me about your stepbrother?

**Kathryn**: (shrugs) There's not much to tell and if there were, I am most certainly not going to give you the information so you could use it to psychoanalyze me. I don't need these fucking sessions, and to be quite honest you're wasting both our time.

**Dr**. **Murdoch**: He seems to care about you enough since he's the first one who made an attempt to contact you.

**Kathryn**: The fucker didn't _care_. He just wanted to gloat. We had a war. It got too far.

**Dr**. **Murdoch**: Hmm… I saw you when you read his letter. In fact, it was the first active reaction you've had since you arrived.

**Kathryn**: Hatred stems deep in the case of my bastard scheming brother, what can I say?

**Dr**. **Murdoch**: How did you meet him?

**Kathryn**: (looks surprised) Excuse me?

**Dr**. **Murdoch**: I read the contents of his journal—

**Kathryn**: (visibly agitated) Can we not talk about that fucking journal?

**Dr**. **Murdoch**: It's obvious that you were very close to him—

**Kathryn**: Enough! (reaches across the table and stops the tape recorder)

**End of tape **

_The following letter was written on October 19 and was consequently delivered to the Valmont house:_

Sebastian,

However the outcome of this particular battle reflects harshly upon me, I at least have the grace (after almost two months of being here) to congratulate you. Don't get me wrong, I still want to have you impaled on a very dull ended pole somewhere, but however this displeases me, you were right. It's also correct to never expect forgiveness; I should know that our actions have only been necessitated by the need to win. You've won. For now. Relish it, because it won't be in your hands for very long.

You're wondering as to why I suddenly decided to continue this correspondence with you. It's just that I realized I will never let you get the satisfaction of knowing that you've completely destroyed me. Do you think that my fucking reputation's the only thing I'm composed of? Now _I_ find that highly insulting. So no, your dreams of me turning into a mute, pathetic mass of a sniveling, disgraced woman are as of now burning in hell. Pretty much where you should be at the moment, actually.

Do you know that an odd thing happened to me the other night? I had a dream, and in it I was right there when you and Ronald were fighting. I also saw you when that cab slammed into your hip, right after you pushed your ironically clad all in white virgin out of harm's way. Do you want to know where I was?

I was the one driving the taxi. Pity it was just a dream and you can only imagine my extreme disappointment when I finally woke up and realized it hadn't been real. In my dream, I didn't stop driving. There was a particular moment of impact that broke the glass and I saw your blood all over the windshield. I killed you then. That had been a nice dream, considering our _friendship_ has been irrevocably fucked up. Dr. Murdoch, your dear _friend_, told me to keep a journal. "_Record all your thoughts and feelings, Kathryn. It helps to let it all out."_ I don't think he has any idea what he's asking of me. If he wants me to 'let it all out', you, Annette, Cecile, and Ronald would be begging for mercy at the moment. Since that doesn't seem currently plausible, I told him to go fuck himself. Do you see? Still the same old Kathryn who was once the object of your very desire.

Since there's little for me to find amusing in this place, I would like to talk to you about that day. Yes, That Day. My _ruination _as you liked to call it. As I've mentioned earlier, I do understand. That journal was a particularly gruesome twist that could have only come from you. How could I have missed out on that? You'll forgive me of course, for my own moment of vulnerability. Do you think those fucking tears were merely a result of theatrics? Of attempting to incite some sort of sympathy from these fuckwits I called my friends? Perhaps it's better that you think that way, but need I remind you, brother, that just because you don't believe it doesn't mean it wasn't real.

I'll give you a few minutes for the words to sink in before I continue.

There. All done now? I do imagine your mouth partially hanging open at my voluntary admittance; well let that be a foreshadowing of what I can do. Just when you least expect it, I will surprise you. You know how exceptional I am in surprising people.

Going back to that day… Yes, I do applaud you. Well done, it takes so much to faze me and you did just that and more. I never saw it coming, much like that inept taxi driver who was stupid enough to let you live. It was a masterpiece, an obra maestra. However, you pushed it too far. You bastard. I mourned for your death. Now I only wish you had died. I wonder what it was about that blonde hick of yours that's gotten you to voluntarily shackle your cock and reserve it for her alone. Is it really _love_? Valmont, what have you done? What happened to us? How did you claim love for that woman? What has she told you? How has she controlled you to delude you into believing that you would be happy in her world, where everything is bright, perky, and there is a promise of a _bright tomorrow_? Poor, estranged brother. What exactly is the reason behind the publicizing of your journal other than to showcase your horrid handwriting and _crude_ words? Was it truly because you loved her or was it because you hated me? Could you blame me for sending Ronald after you? You forget, Sebastian, that you did hit me. It was a particularly painful backhand. After that stunt you foolishly pulled, do you honestly think I wouldn't have retaliated, and that your apology would readily be accepted? Do you think that after you told me you were sorry, I would readily open my legs for you to give me _the fuck of my life_? You had been disrespectful and out of line and however fond I had been of you then, nobody fucking does that to me without being punished for it. How then could you be so angry enough to blame me for that accident that, up until your letter arrived, caused your demise? It was to be expected from me. You remember me well, don't you? The bane of your existence, your cherished prize. The incident had been beyond my control, so how could I be blamed for it?

But enough of that. I'm sure by now as you read this, you're in your room surrounded by the luxury you've deprived me. You told me that you didn't want my forgiveness because I'm supposed to understand your actions, that it was to be expected from you. Read your words and try to really understand its meaning. If you've asked this of me, then does it not apply to myself as well? Do you think that what you did had a much nobler cause that you've turned into the accidental hero while I became vilified by your words? Now that I'm gone and that you've revealed me as the heartless bitch, do you think you're going to be redeemed by your pious saint?

No, Valmont. I assure you that it isn't the case. However _gentle_ and _loving _you must be with her, there will always be nights wherein you will wonder about me. Perhaps even these days, when you're inside of her, buried deeply while she hugs you close, you will wonder somewhere at the back of your mind (where that secret drawer of all things dark) what it would have felt like to be inside of _me_. You would have given me the fuck of _my_ life? No. I would have given you the fuck of _yours_. Before you roll your eyes at these statements, you and I both know that what I'm saying is true. You were right in saying that this isn't about Annette. You see Valmont, what you've done, _everything_, from that day you ran after her and when you _made love _to her, you may not know it, but it's always been about us.

How nice of you to be so nostalgic about our nights of talking. Has your girlfriend really been that dull in bed that you've resorted to immediately to remembering me? Don't you have that same _spark_ with her, that same frisson that had always existed between us? No. Of course not. You only had that with me, but it's futile to talk about such things now. Your letter, although filled with cruel bluntness, evidences that while you don't regret what you've done, I know that in some way, you do regret losing me. I'm that thought in your head, a voice never to be silenced even though you tell your girlfriend over and over again that you've _changed_. Even though I am _incarcerated_, I can feel your restlessness from here. You may claim to be happy with her, but it will never last. You see, while she may _love_ you, she doesn't know you. She doesn't know your secret kinks and fantasies, does she? What about your horrible and damaging secrets? She doesn't know that when you were nine, you had been afraid of that uncle of yours. The one you said almost touched you _there_. She doesn't know that you used to write letters to your mother as a young boy and ask her to visit you, but you stopped when you turned thirteen. She doesn't _know_ that you like rough sex, that it always excited you when we fought. Your precious saint doesn't know that our fights would sometimes turn so intense I'd hit you and you'd slam me against the wall, eyes narrowed and teeth bared as though you were going to eat me alive. I would feel your arousal poking my thigh when you were pressed against me. Do you have that with her? Does she make your blood boil and rush in all the right places? You see, I do know so much about you but unlike you, I'm better at keeping secrets. How can you feel so secure in a relationship based on nearly nothing at all but this _façade _you insist on keeping up? Do you see the irony? How we've switched roles? Now you're the one everybody worships whereas I'm the one people despise. You may have ruined me, but you will never completely obliterate me.

If your claim of _love_ for me had indeed once been true, then you'll get me the fuck out of here. Don't I deserve a chance to play the cards you've mercilessly dealt me or are you afraid of what I might do? Well now, my darling brother, the hero who saved the day, I suppose it's only fitting to say this to you in advance: I don't ask for forgiveness for what I could possibly do when I get out of here, but I expect your understanding.

Kathryn


	3. III

III.

_I'm the bitch you hated._

-Prodigy

---

_ The following is a letter drafted by Sebastian Valmont:_

Kathryn,

Listen, you stupid—

---

It was all sorts of wrong.

As Sebastian Valmont slipped inside his stepsister's room at two thirty in the morning, he realized just how surreal this situation was. Here they were, despite the fact that she had been outed in front of Manchester Prep and the fact that they had only resorted to letters now, he was still sneaking into her bedroom in the middle of the night. He shut the door quietly and remembered the letter he had started to write only to stop just after three words. Three fucking words. It would have been so easy to continue this diatribe with her, this war in letters, but somehow after reading her last letter it didn't seem sufficient anymore.

After rereading it multiple times, he had tried forming a suitable reply to counteract the many insults she had hurled his way, only to realize that he couldn't. Not because he didn't want to, because he _did_. But for some reason it just felt… peculiar.

It was then that he realized he had to see her. Not to fuck her or break her out like she had asked him to (because he was certainly not her fucking lapdog), but to just… see her. Because maybe he needed to again.

He crept across the spacious room and found her sans her usual silk negligee; instead her body was clad in a pair of drawstring pants and a tank top that outlined the curve of her breasts. He felt his mouth grow dry at the sight of her and quickly mentally kicked himself. Then he realized that it didn't matter whether or not he found her attractive even though she looked common, he knew that the attraction would go away once she opened her mouth. Her mouth was slightly open and she had a plastic bracelet around her thin wrist, which then dangled off the edge of the bed while she slept.

Unable to not let her know of his surprise visit, he sat on the chair beside her and used his finger to trace a line on her wrist lightly.

"Wake up, baby sister." He whispered, drawing circles on her wrist until she stirred.

One sleepy green eye peeked at him, to be followed by the opening of the other one. They remained like that for a few seconds as she blinked her eyes steadily to rid herself of the remaining drowsiness she'd felt.

"You know for about the first five seconds of you waking up, you look like you actually have a soul. It's amazing, really."

"Where is it?" she asked quietly, taking her arm from him.

"Where's what?"

"The knife you're going to backstab me with again."

"My, aren't we getting tad too melodramatic?"

"What are you doing here, Sebastian?" she said curtly, sitting up. "I should fucking kill you right now. You know that, right? Didn't Dr. Murdoch tell you how I've fantasized about killing you?"

"Mm no, but you've fantasized about me?"

"Fuck you." Kathryn snapped, glaring at him.

"Fuck you, too." He replied, looking her over. "You lost weight."

"No shit, fuckwit. Got any more bright observations like 'the sky is black' or 'the stars are bright'?"

"Oh, sis… Can't we just get along?"

"My alarm clock will get along well with your jaw. Just give me a few seconds to throw it."

Just when he thought she was kidding, she actually reached for her alarm clock. He quickly grabbed her wrist and his weight overcame hers, the fell off the bed and landed in an undignified manner. She accidentally kneed his stomach and he hit her face with his arm while wrestling the clock from her grasp.

"Get off me!"

"Stop moving and let go of that and I will!"

"It's my fucking alarm clock, Valmont! Get the fuck off or I'm screaming!"

"Ow! Fuck, Kathryn!"

"That's exactly what you'll never get to do!"

"Why would I want to fuck a whore like you??"

She finally succeeded and pushing him away, smiling cruelly while his head banged against the dresser.

"That hurt." He complained, frowning at her.

"It's supposed to."

He stood up and held out a hand for her, only she stared at it as though he had just shown her he had two dicks. Her eyes narrowed with deep loathing and distrust and her upper lip curled in disdain.

"The hell I'm letting you pull me up."

"Why not? I've got a good grip."

"Oh, I remember well. I felt it when you were dragging me to hell with your feigned death."

She stood up and crossed her arms over her chest protectively, her entire body shaking.

"Why the hell are you shaking? It's not even cold."

"I have an 'addiction' remember? Blaine isn't exactly around to help me out."

"I'm here."

"Sebastian, I trust you about as much as I trust Annette."

"So you trust Annette with your life then."

"Did you feel compelled to travel millions of fucking miles just to put up this clever banter with me? I have to tell you, it's getting pathetic."

"What's pathetic is you, Kathryn."

"Really?" Her smile was mocking and her expression clearly implied that she knew something he didn't.

"Really."

"Pathetic. Me. What about you? You tell me that you _love_ her, that in all probability, she's _the one_. The _love of your life. _You sacrificed everything we had for _her_, and yet here you are. Look around, Valmont. You're not in Kansas anymore. You're with the evil little bitch…" she cooed, waggling a finger at him. "Why don't you just go ahead, click your ruby slippers and get the fuck out of my life?"

"I'm already out of your life! I'm so far fucking gone you're never going to reach me ever again with your mindfucks and teasing!"

"Prove it."

"How?"

"Get out."

"Do you ever realize how many times we've fought like this? How many times I've told you I hated you and how many times you've told me to get the fuck out of your life?"

"Get to the point."

"It never works. We always got back together. Why is that?"

"It's not going to work this time. You ruined my fucking life, you fucking betrayed me and now you want things back like they were? Are you fucking deluded? No amount of charm can ever get you out of this, you fucking asshole. I said it once and I'll say it again. I will fucking destroy you once I get out of here."

She slapped him. Hard. It felt like his neck had been snapped in two, but he only looked at her. She still hadn't stopped shaking, her once calm eyes were now clearly full of fury and she was breathing heavily.

"I suppose forgive and forget is out of the question?" he kept his tone light, yet the mockery never escaped Kathryn. The perverse part of him enjoyed pushing her buttons like that, and as long as that side of him reigned, he wanted to hold on to it as much as he can before the other side, yes _that_ side of him that cared for her overcame him. "And here I thought we were going to kiss and makeup just like old times."

"Don't you dare make a mockery out of me!" she finally raised her voice, shoving him so hard he nearly stumbled.

"Why not? The entire school's doing it. They're calling you the evil whore nowadays. I even think a few sex tapes might surface… Although I wouldn't really be surprised if there was any You've fucked half the people in New York and most of them were total perverted losers. In fact, if Tiffany disowns you, you could really enter the porn industry. You'd fit right in with the sluts there."

Her breath caught. For the briefest moment she looked like she was going to cry, but her anger overruled her. It kept her completely safe and she picked up the alarm clock and hurled it at the mirror, making him jump as the glass broke.

"FUCK YOU! I HATE YOU!"

"Aww, how sweet."

She picked a particularly large and dangerous looking shard up and suddenly threw herself at him, as his arms automatically went to support his weight against the dresser, he found himself inches from her face as she stared down at him and the piece of glass cutting through his throat.

"Don't you ever push me like this again." She hissed angrily, "Because unlike you, I have nothing to lose."

There was something wet running down his skin and he was sure it was blood.

"Let go." He answered as calmly as he could. His hands had grown cold and he felt like he was staring directly into Satan's soulless eyes.

"You told me she was the love of your life." Kathryn whispered, placing her forehead against his.

"She is." His voice broke. My God. What the fuck was going on? Something was very wrong…

"Guess what." She continued as she leaned fully against him. He could feel her ribs against his skin and it was difficult to ever believe that it was _her_.

"What?" he replied in spite of himself, his heart was now pounding like crazy and a part of him wanted to take back everything that had happened in the past few minutes because everything had gone out of hand. He felt his entire body break in cold sweat and his heart race in panic.

"You were mine."

She stepped back and smiled at him sadly, tears running down her face. "You were mine, Valmont. Just you. I never replaced you. Not even once."

She slit her left wrist open as hard as she could and fell down before he could even fathom what was happening. He heard himself scream and try as he could; he wasn't able to catch her as she fell. Her body hit the floor hard and her large green eyes, the ones he'd once thought were so engaging and sensual blinked drowsily as the blood from her wrist created a puddle on the floor.

"Jesus, Kathryn! God NO DON'T DO THIS!" he opened the door and screamed for help, but nobody ever came quickly. It seemed as though time had been suspended and for that particular moment it was just them—just how it's always been.

"Murderer." She rasped, twitching slightly. "You should have never provoked me you knew I was unstable… You… you knew it and you… This… unh… It's what…you…wanted…"

"I never meant for this to happen!" he rocked her body back and forth, desperation clearly written all over his handsome features. "Oh, God I'm so sorry Kathryn… Don't… Please…"

She held her open wrist and brushed it against his face, smearing blood all over his cheek.

"You're asking for forgiveness, for something to make you stop thinking this wasn't your fault…" she winced and her head rolled back. "You're not going to get that, Sebastian. I told you I'd fucking destroy you. No matter what it fuck…no matter what it fucking took… Now I've done it…"

There were no words full of wisdom, no promises of love or goodbye or forgiveness ever made that night. As fate would have it, the attendants only rushed about a millisecond after Kathryn breathed her last and they found a bloodstained Sebastian in shock and tears holding her against him tightly.

---

_The following letter was found on Kathryn Merteuil's grave by Sebastian Valmont two years after her death—_

Hello, big brother—

Wipe the shock from your face now before I die from laughing. Oh wait, I'm already dead, right?

Eye for an eye, wouldn't you agree? Whoever said you were the only one good at playing dead?

You stupid fuck. Were you really that thickheaded that you would think for a fucking second I'd off myself because of you? My God. I think you really did. You were always such an insufferable arrogant jackass.

I'll tell you this much: I wasn't lying when I said you were the love of my life, but then again I'm really already dead so I suppose you aren't anymore. Shocked? I'll say it again. You were the love of my life. What else can I call it? You were my other half, never my plaything. Just mine. Maybe I was yours and you never knew it. It doesn't really matter now, does it? Because you've lost me. I've cost you everything. No more Annette I assume. Well actually, I know she's not a part of your life anymore. I had someone check up on the little bitch and imagine my surprise upon realizing that she's actually engaged to someone else, not to mention knocked up? I suppose your days of _making love_ opened the door for her to spread her legs for any other man who'd pay attention. What happened to _'She's the love of my life, Kathryn?'_ or _'I love her'_, or even_ 'She's the one'_? I told you she wasn't right for you, remember? But _no_, you never listened. I told you I was the one for you, but no... You just had to fuck me over like that. Now you can just rot in hell. I fucking loved you. I would have given you everything if you had just been patient but then again, you were never a patient man were you? Too bad. Now it's all gone.

Of course, being just a tad bit curious I had someone check up on you as well. And no, it isn't Blaine (not that you'll take my word for it, but you should in this case. Do you honestly think I'm that predictable? You won't find me unless I want you to find me.). So… Somebody else _has_ been seeing a shrink as well… Might I recommend Dr. Murdoch, your dearest_ friend_?And the drinking… And my funeral… Awww. By any chance, were you able to notice the man in the blue suit opposite you? He'd been videotaping your face while everybody else mourned for me. Thank you for the entertainment. I nearly had a heart attack laughing at the tears running down your face. Did it hurt watching me die, knowing you were the one responsible? I hope it did. No, wait. I _know_ it did. I had been counting on it to hurt.

I would have let another year pass but I figured I'd finally let it all be known. Game over, shitface. I win. I told you I always did.

-K

PS. You should have heard yourself cry like a little bitch that night. Priceless.

---

He stuffed the letter in his jacket pocket and swallowed thickly. As he felt the wind pick up, he caught himself smiling for the first time.There was plenty of time to be angry later... Preferrably when she was right in front of him.

First things first. He was going to track her down, fuck her like crazy, and settle things once and for all.

* * *

A/N:. I tried. I really did. The style didn't work. Hahaha. So nobody loves this story but me. But it's okay. I liked the ending anyway. Sometimes I just get tired of all their emotional baggage it's fun writing a mindfuck story like this. 


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